Erogenous Zones
by CelestiaLily
Summary: A collection of 11 character drabbles focusing on their erogenous zones, and other subjects. Rated T for some swears & talk of "sensitive hairs."  Little-to-no pairings. Enjoy! :


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Hetalia: Axis Powers_. It belongs to its respectful owner.**

_A/N: This is a collection of short drabbles about 11 different characters in the show. The general theme centers around their "erogenous zones", but the topics range quite a bit for each character. _

_The eleven characters are: Germany, England, France, Japan, China, Russia, Hungary, Prussia, Sealand, Poland, and Seborga._

_Please note that I will not be adding any more characters to this collection, so I am sorry if I do not feature your favourite character in here._

_**Warnings: **This contains a few swears, hints at some pairings, "Germany-is-HRE" theory, mentions of castration and of course, talk of "sensitive areas." XD_

**~Enjoy!~**

Germany's so-called "erogenous zone" wasn't something he liked to draw attention to. He knew from being around the other nations that having one was unique to the personifications' existence; no human being had such a thing. This troubled him; it was important to keep such obvious identity markers hidden for his overall welfare. Since the nature of one was that it was so sensitive, it would be pretty much akin to leaving his whole head exposed in the grueling reality of battle. Something like that Germany couldn't very well trust in the open. So he gelled his hair down every morning; routinely, without fail. The nation even went so far as to keep a small bottle of the stuff on him at all times, in case of an unexpected wet dunking. (With Italy constantly around, this happened to him more often than Germany thought possible.) It was control bordering on obsessiveness, but he didn't care.

Germany could even vaguely recall devoting such care to this matter in a time before hair gels and the like were even invented. In his history he had slathered quite a fair amount of bear grease into his hair to keep it as tame as possible. Before that... Well, Germany never really remembered his earliest years that well, to be honest. Hadn't he worn some sort of largish hat to cover it...?

Either way, it became the necessary norm of his daily routine. Later on, he noticed that the overall accumulation of gel in his hair was enough to force it down completely, even at night when the surface layer had been combed out. This was all well and good; for it simply made his life easier sporting a plain gelled crew cut instead of a messier hairstyle. (Germany quite frankly had _no _idea how France could stand such frivolity.)

But sometimes, late at night when he was still lying wide awake and Italy somehow sleeping beside him, Germany would tug out the little offending curl and smile softly at the irony. For his erogenous zone was shaped and curled exactly the same as Italy's.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

It was a generally well-known fact that England had always prided himself on his exceptionally large eyebrows. No matter how much teasing or insulting advice he got, he never bothered to change the way they looked, despite sporting the odd style for over a millennium. Besides, he preferred to meet those snide comments with his own sharp comebacks in turn. This was a rather common occurrence with the likes of France. By then, the usual jibes would end up being replaced by the harsher (but no less immature) acts of face-slapping or hair-pulling. Many a World Meeting had been disrupted by such an argument breaking out in the process, much to the annoyance of the other countries. It was a dependable tradition, if not a very civilized one, and one that England didn't mind continuing in the least. (Well, _somebody _had to keep that frog in line.)

But what England had never bothered to mention to anyone (other than his brothers, who had the same,) was that his bushy eyebrows were, in fact, his fabled "erogenous zone." Everyone knew it indicated a particularly sensitive part of their country, but for the life of him England couldn't figure out what it was. His awesome six-string guitar tattoo, on the other hand, he _knew _it represented Liverpool and England's world-famous rock 'n' roll industry in that era.

Of course, his erogenous zone wasn't made up of _all _his eyebrows. England still trimmed them every morning, trying to tame them into relative submission. This was opposed to his brother Scotland, who let them grow to almost absurdly large levels. (England liked to think he had more class than that.) Every once in a while he would get a comment that stuck a bit, but he would chuckle inwardly and ignore their taunts; for they remained harmless and no big deal to his life.

One thing he remained infinitely grateful for was that France has yet to figure out where his erogenous zone really was. That flamboyant frog had been bugging, groping and annoying him for centuries to try and find out where it was, and _still _didn't realize that "those fuzzy caterpillars" were his goal all along. Quite frankly, England preferred to let the frog have his fun; rather than to spoil a perfectly good joke that's been going on for centuries. It was more entertaining that way.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

In France's opinion, proper cleanliness and good taste were essential to living a professional lifestyle. His choice of clothes took great consideration, his fashion impeccable, and his hairstyle treated exceptionally important. Contrary to popular belief, France was _not _at all sleazy when it came to his fashionable welfare. He took pride in looking his best when it came to presenting himself and residing in public. Everything was planned accordingly to fit his business and lifestyle, right down to the signature white suit France wore at every World Meeting. The modern country absolutely flourished in social sciences; it was his element, his area of expertise. Over the centuries France had learned, adapted and eventually perfected the various fine arts of communication, presentation, décor, etiquette, rhetoric and public speaking, among many others. It would only suffice that his hair would mean a lot to the busy man...

Especially his erogenous zone. That little hair had remained hidden so long as there was enough product to keep it in line with the rest of his wavy hairstyle. It was held in high regard to him, but at the same time France loathed the idea of such an obvious weak point being out in the open. It was like a fashion faux pas combined with a fatal warfare weakness: just _not _a good idea if a country wanted to survive. It was hilarious that his erogenous zone was about as contrary as it could be; the little golden hair stuck up in defiance like it belonged with England's messy rat's-nest more than the fashion-forward country's head.

It was one of his lesser-known talents that France could sort of tell when a country was hiding something, usually by paying great attention to their subtle body language and social vibes. This was obviously used for more serious matters when the time came, but it also became the source of nifty information when France put his mind to it. For example, he knew that Germany was employing much of the same tactics he was to prevent anybody knowing about his erogenous zone. Anyone could easily see that the nation put lots of gel in his hair, but France also saw how he was able to deflect attention away from his hair so well that even Italy, who was quite fond of invading other's personal space, ignored Germany's erogenous zone, or lack thereof. This same method of subtly diffusing the possible attention and directing it away was often used by France, as well as the slow adapting of his persona into... well, whatever people thought of him now. Creating such an "outer persona" was the best way to hide his more personal feelings from the world. It wasn't the greatest life, nor the most honest, but France was simply content with hiding both his hair, and his feelings, under the richly cloying scent of roses and lilies.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

If anyone were to ask Japan about his erogenous zone, he would most likely grow quiet, solemnly change the subject and carry on as if nothing had ever only reaction he might exhibit would be a slight blush on his usually neutral face, or maybe a hint of embarrassment betrayed by his eyes. For the truth was Japan rarely discussed any such things with anyone; he treated it as a private matter that not many should be poking into, regardless of who they were. It was just neater that way; less hassle and less discomfort for both parties. He wasn't ashamed of it _per se, _but saving face in front of the other nations was important, especially when they exhibited such strange behaviour...

Japan had slowly gotten used to the various "culture shocks" of the world, but he couldn't help such things like when he inwardly cringed whenever America ruffled his loose, black hair from time to time. His energetic friend probably didn't realize Kiku's sensitivity, but Japan was willing to let it slide in favour of having all sorts of fun with America instead. Hey, he was America's "best bud" after all... If Japan were to ever wax poetic about his hairstyle, he would say that as short as it was, it was quite efficient but held a slight hint of elusive emotion that betrayed his more sensitive persona from within. And as he was steadily learning over the decades, Japan realized that such a persona was the kind he wouldn't actually mind showing the world more often.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Making fun of China's ponytail was about as unadvisable as insulting his infamous line of Shinatty-chan merchandise; less dangerous maybe, but still only for those who want to set an angry man who's been mastering all forms of martial arts for over 4000 years on their tail. China was not a person known for his hair-trigger temper, (pardon the pun), but mess with his casual hairstyle and you'd better run. The reasons for his ponytail were unclear; the petit nation was fully aware of his more-than-slightly "feminine physique," so why adopt hairstyle that practically insisted to Korea that he was a girl? (The country's fixation on such a silly notion remained an eternal bore in China's existence, but family was family and it was wiser to leave it alone in the long run.) China didn't put _too_ much energy into keeping his hairstyle in place, (France and Germany clearly won in that category), but he did have certain hair accessories that remained somewhat special to him, regardless of how "sissy" they seemed to be.

One was a ceremonial topknot given to him by Japan in his Imperial days, back when the tiny island country was lesser-known throughout the world. It was engraved with a simplistic design of a Chinese dragon, as well as the Japanese characters for "Wang Yao"; his human identity. It wasn't really for wearing, but China still treasured it all the same. He had also accumulated an odd assortment of hairpieces and hats from all around the world, courtesy of the nations who were either his friends or those who simply didn't know what to get him for his birthday. For starters, there was a small burgundy beret with gold-coloured lining from France, an interesting sailor's hat from England, (the blond nation fervently insisted that it was most definitely _not _acquired by any sort of "suspicious means" during his pirating days), and even the strangest of hats called a "sombrero" from Spain. China enjoyed all of these glorious presents immensely, (even though he honestly had no idea what to do with the sombrero); but in the end it was his own ponytail hairstyle that gave him comfort after all these years, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Russia was well aware of the odd comment he would occasionally hear about his scarf. Why did he never take it off? Was it hiding something? A bite mark? A bomb? Why was it pink? Was he insane? (Although, Russia assumed correctly that the last question was rarely asked in the context of his scarf.)

If he had felt the need to answer such questions, he would've assured them that: no, it wasn't hiding a bomb, no; he hadn't been bitten by a vampire, yes; pink was a nice colour, and as he was often cold during the day, wearing a scarf was about the perfect thing to keep him warm. But there were some who came to rather... _different _conclusions. Like, "Dude, I don't even think he can take it off... It's probably holding his zombified severed head on his body!" Or, " No, seriously; I bet it's his "erogenous zone," people!"

Russia would've been more than happy to set the record straight, _if _a certain hyperactive paranoid glasses-wearing nation would bother to believe him. Yes, he can in fact take it off. And no, the scarf was absolutely _not _his "erogenous zone." His erogenous zone was just the same as the rest of his hairstyle; short, straight, and a light blond so pale it looked almost silvery-white when held up against the morning snow. It had a slight inward curl at the tip, but other than that nothing remained to distinguish it from any other hair on his head.

But of course, Russia digressed. The fabled scarf he rarely parted from held much more importance to him than a simple strand of hair. For as it was the undisputed truth that an erogenous zone was always unique, so too was the scarf a solid symbol of Russia's family; no matter how chaotic that family was. His dear sisters, Belarus and Ukraine. They were both sweet in their own right, and they made frequent visits to his house; often bringing over anything from delicious foods to some home movies to watch together while the outside air was frigid and cold in the blustery winter months.

It didn't seem like it, but all three of them cared for each other quite a lot. Simple traditions like painting Ukrainian easter eggs and spending the holidays together meant more to the small family than they could say; purely because it was their special time, together. Belarus could be jealous, and Ukraine was sometimes rather overemotional, but even on their worst days Russia could never regret having such wonderful, caring sisters with him as a family. They were siblings, a team; one that knew how to stay together through thick and thin.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

When Hungary looks back on her history of thinking she was a boy, she often contemplates the sheer _idiocy_ of the male leaders who sought to have their nation be made a man through ignorance and denial. She was taught to dress herself in secret, even though most of the other boys in the palace were dressed by servants almost every day. Hungary was encouraged to speak in a low voice, said to make her sound courageous like a real leader, but in reality it was an effort to hide her shrill battle cries.

But the most obvious marker of her true gender was her erogenous zone. It was long, quite wavy and shone like gold when she held it towards the sun. It was quite pretty in its own right. The problem was, her leaders wanted short hair to make her face appear more masculine, but the offending curl would stick out like a sore thumb if the rest was shaved off; an obvious weakness that was considered fatal in her kingdom's constant state of war.

Once a barber had almost cut it clean off in frustration, but little Hungary had flown into a rage, jumped up and kicked him quite hard in the shins before he could. This created such an uproar that the insolent barber was subsequently fired. After that, no one was allowed to touch her hair, save for herself. Hungary finally decided to put her long hair in a ponytail, to keep it away from her face as she trained vigorously and fought for her country. This tomboyish hairstyle continued even after she found out she was a girl, as it was convenient enough and rather stylish for her tastes at this point.

Hungary inwardly snickered and blushed at the memory of revealing to Austria that yes; she was a girl, and yes; she could still kick his sorry butt on the battlefield any day. After he had gotten over the initial shock, Austria managed to spit out a few mumbled words that with much coasting (and more than enough threats to his beloved piano,) that yeah, she still looked rather pretty with her hair in a tie. This earned him loads of teasing from Hungary later on, but when the two nations were encouraged to train their skills together Austria got back at her by attempting to pull out her hair-tie any chance he could. She still kicked his butt in return, but it became a semi-nice tradition as they got to know each other more. Even if it caused her to give him a few extra bruises for _daring _to find her erogenous zone.

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Let's get one thing straight: The Awesome Me is simply too Awesome to have an "erogenous zone." Yeah, that's right. I don't have that silly little weakness that other nations so un-awesomely have. It's too annoying, not to mention risky and stupid as heck to reveal on the battlefield. Look at my bruder; he has to put like, a _gazillion _bottles of hair gel in his hair to keep it tame all the time! Once, as a joke I told him that if he kept being so un-awesome like that, his hair'll end up turning green. Wouldn't you know it, he actually believed me for a while! Although, he was pretty pissed when he found out the truth. West can give a killer noogie when he wants to... But that's just it, isn't it? I didn't _have _an erogenous zone that he could use against me! That's good, right? Isn't it...?

… I used to have one, you know. Really, I did. I kept it hidden for decades, (rather awesomely in fact), but I guess it just didn't matter in the end. Nothing could've stopped me from becoming an "ex-nation."

When I was separated... The Berlin Wall, it hurt like _hell. _It really did, man. I was bleeding in my side for months on end, heavily at that. Would've been years, but my heart had just continued on bleeding when my side had stopped. I managed to hold through, though. Heh, wasn't _"that"_ just about the funnest moment I've ever had? Journal, in case you couldn't tell; that was sarcasm.

But man, it all went to pot when I stopped being Prussia. I mean, I'm _still _Prussia, and I always will be, but my land had become "East Germany", and me and West knew that was pretty much the only thing that was keeping me alive on this Earth.

But you know, what really freaked me out _(shaddup, Journal. The Awesome Me can still be freaked out once in a while...)_ was that one morning I found out I wasn't a country anymore. I woke up feeling like the devil had used my whole nation as his own personal playground, (read: like _fucking crap_), and then suddenly I found that my erogenous zone was gone! It was _legit _not there, no matter how many times I checked my awesome head!

Then... I started to feel worse. The whole room kinda began to spin, like one too many rides trapped in one of those "G-force tester" thingies. My vision got all spotty. It felt like gravity was flipping me off and then punched me in the face. I don't remember much, but I think I might've passed out after that... When I came to, West was there. It was kinda awkward, having him clutching me, sniffling and babbling melodramatically when all I wanted to do was get back at gravity for screwing me over like that, but when my vision cleared enough to see his face I was able to knock some sense into him.

But after that... he said I wasn't a nation anymore. His eyes had gotten all funny, like he was pitying me or something. Well, I didn't believe him! How could the Awesome Me not be a freakin' _nation _anymore? I had just fallen over, that's all; what was the big deal?

But even as I yelled at him, even forcing him aside and getting unsteadily to my feet to try and throw something, I started to feel it inside. All my people, my citizens, had stopped identifying themselves as Prussians, and started calling themselves East Germany. It definitely wasn't the most awesome of times, Journal.

Hey, wait a minute... What the hell am I telling you this for again? I had already wrote about it decades ago... Idiot. I guess I forgot. Such an un-awesome thing to forget writing about before, but who cares? Heck, here I am; more awesome than ever! Speaking of which, you'll _never _guess how truly awesome Spain and I were today...

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Sealand barely even knew what an "erogenous zone" was, but whatever it was, he wanted one. Maybe then, the other countries'll finally recognize him as a true nation! All he knew was that it was sensitive, and usually small, but was it on his body, or his clothes? Sealand didn't usually get many human visitors, but the ones that stopped by didn't seem to have anything of the sort. Then again, none of his tourists seemed to like being poked in the face by a "rambunctious little scoundrel" all that much... Oh well.

After he sold himself on Ebay, (who knew it was that easy?), he moved in with Sweden and Finland at their house. Sealand even tried asking them what it was, but Finland just waved him away and told him to go ask Sweden. Meanwhile, Sweden always kept him too busy with other things to remember, so the answer remained elusive, and eventually forgotten.

Sealand liked the countries well enough, especially when they all did fun stuff together, but the boy could tell you first hand that learning Swedish and Finnish was _hard! _After about a week of trying to strangle his tongue around the new words, Sealand secretly began to miss his distinctively British accent. If only that jerk England would recognize him as a nation! But, after a while it wasn't so bad. It took years to get the basics right, and he was still learning new stuff all the time, (much to his frustration), but Sealand now thoroughly enjoyed telling the two older nations about his day in a rapid and idiosyncratic mix of both languages.

He was even starting to pick up a bit of Japanese! The blonde boy tried to listen to Japan's conversations whenever the far eastern nation came over. Sealand practiced imitating some words that he heard, but when he made up a sentence using what he knew and tried asking Kiku what his day was like, Japan got an odd look on his face and began to chuckle softly, trying to cover it to be polite but failing drastically. It was quite disheartening to have his attempt laughed at, but Japan had later explained to Sealand the proper way to ask a question in Japanese. The island nation had also encouraged him to practice writing some of the characters, but Sealand had sheepishly given up after he saw their ridiculous complexity. Too many funny-looking squiggles and lines!

One time he tried asking Japan what an "erogenous zone" was, but all he got was some stuttering and Kiku's face going redder than Sealand's ever seen. Oh well. He'd find out someday...

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Cross-dresser? Please. Poland preferred the modern phrase, "fashion conscientious." But "totally amazing" worked too. He genuinely rocked the colour pink, what more is there to it? He didn't try to call it "salmon" or "coral" or something totally messed up like that. Pink was pink, and yes, he was indeed a dignified member of the male population.

Although, define "male nation", right? Nations are pretty much a species on their own, and since it's totally impossible to procreate the way humans do, who really cares if a "he" looks like a million bucks in a skirt? Besides, his country was doing great! Hanging out with Liet and Hungary was so much fun, Poland could care _less_ who didn't think he was as awesome as he really was. All he needed to enjoy life was his cell phone, some of his favourite afternoon snacks, a good hair day, his totally fab ponies and he was set.

Oh, yeah: and _no_ erogenous zone. Poland _hated _it. Like, _really_ hated it. He didn't understand why a nation had to have one, anyways. Do you know how ridiculously _hard_ it is to keep something like that secret? It wasn't even something cute and fab Poland could just ignore and everything would be fine. (He secretly _loathed _the Italy brothers for their ability to leave their curls out in the open. I mean, come on! That's just not fair...)

No, it had to be one of those annoying, stubborn, totally uncooperative "Idiot Hairs" that absolutely did _not _do what he told it to do. Under no circumstances would Poland get rid of it, (that's like castration, man!), but it was super curly and ugly and it sprang up off the top of his head like it wanted to proclaim its stupid existence to the rest of the whole wide world:"Here I am!" Really, _how _is that useful? … Oh, well. He was stuck with it, and Poland tried to avoid getting into more trouble than it already gave him.

Like, there was that one time in the early morning when Liet had accidentally tripped over his spare hairbrush in the hallway, (it wasn't his fault he was too busy to pick it up! He was trying to tame the curl down and Liet wasn't supposed to be up until an hour later!), and promptly grabbed Poland's erogenous zone in an effort to stop himself from falling. Needless to say, it didn't work. They ended up in a very messy pileup on the floor, with Poland swearing furiously in Polish for Liet to _let the fuck go of his damn curl!_

Now _that_ had been embarrassing... And there was also that time when his favourite horse mistook it for a curly bobbing piece of hay. Of all the stupid times for it to feel a bit snackish, it was right when he was walking by. The crazy animal had proceeded to give it a good, strong _munch _before Poland managed to wrestle it free again. Other than that, Poland was usually able to tell that insufferable curl who's boss. Hungary had given him some good tips for keeping his straggly hair in line.

Oh yeah... He should totally remind Liet to call her over sometime. He had some of her CD's and stuff to return, but Romania had totally texted him and he absolutely _had _to reply back. He'd eventually get around to it, just gotta take this call first...

**~O~0~o~0~O~0~o~0~O~**

Seborga didn't mind being the brother nobody remembered. The Italy Twins were the nations people knew about; the ones that ran the country and the ones that managed international relations around the world. He was just the odd brother out; a little blot on the map located within the north-western bit of Italy, and containing just around 15 square kilometers of land to call his own.

But he didn't mind. No really, he didn't. Seborga was comfortable being the one who didn't have to worry about making a hullabaloo over governments and trade relations and all those boring old meetings every day. He really didn't see what the whole "being a country" business was all about, or why Sealand insisted on making such a big fuss over not being recognized as a full country instead of a micro-nation.

Well... He guess he could sort of understand the frustrations of being ignored all the time, but Seborga wasn't angry or upset about it like Sealand, or even like... (oh, what's his name... that little blonde guy with the bear...)

Anyway, Seborga didn't mind laughing at his own citizens and appointed government a bit. Who would even bother to set up their own tiny country when it was so small that no one really took it seriously? But this nation was his, and Seborga wasn't one to question a good thing. How else would he ever have gotten the twins to cooperate on building their Italy house together?

Oh, yeah. Seborga forgot to mention that while North, South and him own separate houses to live in, (presumably because the infamous twins couldn't stand living in the same building as each other for more than a year or so), there was also a "mutual home" that was pretty much the property of all three Italys of the country. This was his favourite hangout, by far. If you haven't noticed, his landmass was barely enough room to _sneeze_ in compared to the other large countries, so he liked to get out whenever he could and enjoy the joint house at will.

It was rather smallish on the outside, but inside it was furnished with all kinds of junk and stuff that had accumulated from all three of them over the decades. There was a large cellar stocked with all kinds of fruit and wine downstairs, (Seborga was quite a good wine brewer and managed a large winery made from the native Italian vineyards that prospered around the area), a few separate rooms for each of them, and a massive kitchen built in the center of the house.

This, Seborga thought, was practically a building plan made in heaven. All the Italys loved to cook. It was their undisputed territory, something shared between them that, quite miraculously, helped them cooperate with each other. The whole area was filled with pots and pans and cabinets and racks of spices of all kinds; cooking utensils and stoves and ovens and cupboards that contained more types of food than France could ever dream of possessing. (Fine, that last one was a lie. But Seborga would be damned if he had to admit that France could cook as well as they did.)

But the best part? _They actually got along together._ Seborga had witnessed many a spat or brawl over pretty much nothing with both of them, but as soon as he laid down the law that they had to behave, they listened to him for once and stopped. North was still a bit of a ditz, and South has a long time before he gets a handle on his potty mouth, but there wasn't constant bickering like there was when the twins were anywhere else. To this Seborga thanked their mutual relations. All three of them were Italys, after all, so it had become a nice tradition to just come over, relax a bit, and talk about their day while stirring up big heaping pots of pasta together.

It was still annoying whenever he was mistaken for one of the twins, though. His erogenous zone was definitely an "Italy Curl"; as it was thin, light auburn and stuck out on the side of his head, but unlike his brother's rounder curls Seborga's was almost "squarish." Yeah, squarish. Seborga was fully aware of how odd that looked, even among nations who had strange habits all the time, but it was unique and he didn't mind. Besides, the whole trio of Italys was quite frankly _beyond_ weird, but they were family. In the end, how could Seborga hate that?

**~Fin~**

_A/N: Yeah, sappy I know. But these were all written sporadically over a few months and I thought I'd collect them all together and post it to see what happens._

**Thanks for reading! :)**


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